


And There Are Secrets

by SecondSilk



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: F/M, rape is off-screen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-25
Updated: 2010-05-25
Packaged: 2017-10-09 17:11:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 13,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondSilk/pseuds/SecondSilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A case from Sara's past hits her present, but Grissom doesn't seem to care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Trusted

It was dark. She could feel his hands, but she couldn't see his face. He was wearing too much perfume. Sara struggled as best she could but he had tied her down. Her most prominent thought was that she wouldn't be able to describe anything about him, the bastard.

The smell itself began to turn her stomach. She tried again to scream and this time she woke up. She almost, no she did, scream into the darkness of her bedroom. The sound of her own fear pushed its way into her mind and she was able to focus on the fact that she was alone.

Sara was still breathing heavily even after she had picked up the phone by her bed and dialled Nick's number. He woke up as soon as the phone began to ring. It took him about a minute to pick it up.

"Hello," he asked, weariness waring with anger in his voice.

"Nick?"

He recognised Sara's voice and the anger disappeared.

"Sara, are you okay?"

"Listen, you don't have anyone there, do you?"

"What do you mean?" Nick asked.

"Girlfriend, boyfriend, parents," Sara explained.

Nick would have known what she'd meant if the answer was yes, so Sara climbed out of bed with the phone and began throwing together the clothes she would need for the next day.

"No," Nick answered her question.

"I'm coming over to your place," Sara told him.

"I'll come get you," he immediately offered.

"No. I need to get out of the house, it was bad tonight," she said.

"I'll see you in a bit, then," Nick sighed.

"Thanks, Nick."

Sara drove to Nick's house with intense concentration. Anyone else would have been a danger on the road in Sara's condition, she put all her energy and anger into concentrating on driving.

Nick was ready when she arrived not too much later. He open the door for her and stood back as she walked through his lounge area to the spare room he had. Both the single beds were made up. Nick didn't follow her, but went back into his kitchen to light the gas beneath the saucepan of milk he'd put there when she'd called.

Sarah hadn't really changed out of her pyjamas even to drive. She came into the kitchen area to claim her glass of warm milk. Nick smiled reassuringly at her. She looked as if she'd just fallen out of bed. It was so unlike her normal appearance that he couldn't help but be a little amused. He leant against the bench next to the stove and away from her. The first time she'd had to visit she'd also had to explain the rules of being allowed to help her. The second time she'd had to remind him of the space, and the glass of warm milk.

She accepted her drink with a grateful smile.

"Thanks so much, Nicky," she said.

He shrugged, "It's not a problem."

He picked up his own warm milk and offered Sara a toast. They clinked glasses and she downed the rest of her drink. Nick continued to sip his slowly, watching her. Sara seem unaware of where she was. She stood in a daze in his kitchen while he watched her carefully and drank. He took her glass from her hands gently and placed it in the sink. He ushered her just as tentatively to his spare room.

Sara came to herself with a quiet shake.

"I am sorry, Nick. I got you up. I would have been fine, surely…" she mumbled. "I apologise for being so silly," she said.

Nick gripped her arm gently, reassuringly.

"I'm fine, Sara."

He leant closer and kissed her gently.

"Go to sleep."

Nick turned off the light and gently nudged Sara towards the spare room.

"Thanks, Nick," she mumbled as she climbed into one of the beds.

She pulled a small stuffed toy, a pig, from her bag and curled up around it. Nick waited until she was settled before climbing into the other bed.

It was ten pm when Nick's phone rang. He woke up instantly and with more than his usual grace answered it. Sara barely stirred, which he took as a good sign. He was not awake enough to answer with more than a grunt.

"Nick?" Grissom's voice came through.

"Griss, you need me?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry, Nicky, but we really have more than we can handle."

"No, no, that's fine," Nick assured him. He swallowed, "Sara'll be coming in, too."

"Sara? It's her day off," Grissom said.

"Yes, but she's here," Nick explained carefully, "and she won't like waking up alone."

"She's a big girl, Nick, I'm sure she can look after herself."

Grissom's tone added nothing to Nick's understanding of his comment.

"She's coming in, too," he repeated, "even if she just does paper work."

"Okay, 401A opposite the park, join Warrick there, the victim was beaten before she was hit."

Grissom hung up. Nick was left with the unenviable job of waking Sara up. He got back to the room and sat down on his bed. He decided to try what his mother had always done for him.

"Sara, you really need to wake up now," he began in a slightly lecturing tone. "It was Grissom just on the phone, and he wants us, well, me, to go into work. I thought you would rather come than wake up here with me gone. We have to meet Warrick at the site, so if you get up you can have a shower while I make coffee and…"

"Mmm, coffee," Sara murmured.

"Yes, coffee. Wake up now," Nick ordered.

Sara rolled over to face him, "I get the first shower?"

"Yes, go," Nick told her.

He put the kettle on and spooned the coffee into the plunger carefully. He didn't know much of what Sara's nightmares were. She'd taken him out one night. He remembered that she had been extremely nervous, and absolutely determined.

"I have nightmares," she'd said, eventually, "They're really bad. I can't really get back to sleep if I have one."

"General nightmares," he had asked her, "Or a specific event."

She'd nodded, and he'd held her hand.

Sara came into the kitchen interrupting Nick reminiscence. He poured the coffee.

"You got ready quickly," he said.

Sara looked at him suspiciously, trying to see what he was implying. "I hate cold coffee," she said slowly.

Nick took a couple of sips of his. It was really too hot to drink straight away. He took it with him on his way to the shower. Sara lent against the bench and drank hers.

She remembered that he hadn't asked what the specific event was. He'd held her hand and asked her what he could do to help. He'd thanked her for trusting him.


	2. The Smell

The drive to the lab was quiet. Nick's own thoughts were focused on the content of Sara's nightmares.

"How did you sleep?" he asked suddenly.

Sara almost jumped, but she was glad for the question.

"Well," she said, "really well. Did you put something in the milk?"

"I was thinking about it," he admitted, "but I thought that if you had another nightmare, you'd want to wake up."

"Thanks."

"No problem," Nick searched for something more to say. He normally had little problem talking to or teasing Sara.

Teasing. "What's the bear's name?" he asked.

"Pig," Sara said.

"Its name's pig?" Nick was thrown by Sara's lack of reaction.

"No, it's a pig. I don't know what its name is. I think I named it Bert. But that wasn't his first name. I mean the name I gave him when I first got him. I found him one day under my bed and I couldn't remember what I had called him."

Nick nodded.

"Why me?" he asked. He had nothing else to go on, so he asked what was really bothering him.

"Why you what?"

"Why did you come to me?" he asked.

To his surprise, Sara smiled.

"Well, it could hardly be Greg, could it?" She asked.

"No," Nick agreed, "but why not someone else?"

"I didn't know Warrick too well, and we weren't getting along. I couldn't tell Grissom, really, and certainly not Catherine."

"But she'd understand," Nick protested.

"Exactly," Sara said, "I couldn't have her understand it. And she'd be anxious for Lindsey."

"Every case makes Cath anxious for Lindsey," Nick said, still arguing against his own helpfulness.

"It's never been someone she's known before, Nick. I couldn't deal with her pity and her sympathy."

Nick nodded as if he understood and continued driving

They collected their stuff from the lab and joined Warrick at the site. It looked like it was a simple hit and run accident, but the victim had bleed profusely and there was a lot of ground to cover. The most important thing was to get the body in as soon as possible for an autopsy.

Warrick glanced at the Tahoe as it pulled up. He went back to work taking photos when he saw it was just Nick. He looked back when he heard two sets of foot steps.

"Sara, what are you doing here?" he asked.

"I couldn't sleep," she said, truthfully enough, "So Nick brought me."

Warrick was about to ask how that really made sense, if he wanted to know, but Sara had stepped up to the body to examine her face. She was there one moment and the next she was running down the street.

"Get the smell," she managed to call behind her.

Nick watched her run past before he could follow her. Sara collapsed in the gutter, heaving. She started to take deep breaths and Nick was sure she was trying not to vomit.

"Sara, Sara," he called to her as he got to where she was.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't think it would be good to throw up on a crime scene."

"Good thinking," he said. And more quietly, "The smell?"

"On her."

Without giving anymore explanation, she used Nick's arm to pull herself up and stalked back to the body. Nick followed her.

"Did you get the smell?" she asked Warrick.

"It's not strong enough," he said. "It's not her perfume."

"No, it's the rapist's."

Nick took another look at the body. It was a young woman. She was badly beaten. And even if she had been hit by a car, it had been bad before that. The blood drained from his face and he felt almost like throwing up as well.

Sara didn't look at the body. She stepped wide carefully, heading for the park.

"I want it all marked out, Warrick, please."

Warrick glanced at Nick, questioningly. Nick nodded and followed Sara into the park.

Sara skirted wide around the area. She looked around the ground quickly. She followed the path the victim had crawled. It ran almost straight to the foot of a large tree.

The case-kit went on the ground. The camera came out. There was one clear footprint that deserved several photos. So did the bark on the tree where it appeared it had been rubbed, perhaps with rope.

Nick found Sara methodically analysing the scene. She was systematically working the tree taking fibres and photographs. Rather than questioning her or taking over, he simply joined her.

The site was obviously the site of an attack. The woman had struggled forcefully. There was blood on the tree. Nick took swabs of it, sure that it only the victim's, but he wasn't leaving it behind.

Warrick avoided the path the woman had crawled as he approached Sara and Nick.

"I've processed the body, they've taken her for an autopsy."

"I'm going, it's my body," Sara said.

Nick looked ready to protest. Sara raised an eyebrow at him and nodded towards Warrick. Nick acquiesced silently; he threw Sara his keys. She grabbed them out of the air and jogged to the Tahoe.

Warrick looked back and forth between Nick and where Sara had gone. He raised an eyebrow at Nick.

"You came with Sara, didn't you?"

"No, no, no," Nick said, shaking his head, "It's not like that."

"Like what?" Warrick asked, grinning.

"I like my job, I like my life, and I have Grissom's respect. I don't want any of that to change."

Warrick chuckled, "Yeah. Do you want to call it?"

Nick surveyed the scene.

"The woman was walking through the park. Or even the street," he added, looking at the prints in the grass. "Attacker grabbed her from behind. She was dragged to the tree. So she was in the park, over here."

Warrick stepped carefully over there. He ordered it all taped off. He couldn't see any prints. But that didn't mean they weren't there.

"Dragged her to the tree," Warrick continued. "Tied her hands together behind the tree?"

"She was sitting up," Nick said. He had been examining the prints under the tree. "So he tied her hands together and tied her around the waist to the tree as well. Then he raped her, then he left her. She was able to get out of the rope."

Nick took photos of the rope. He picked it up carefully. He had a strange impulse, but one he had never failed to respond to. He wrapped the rope length-wise in plastic before bagging it. Warrick watched him, trying to work it out. Nick shrugged.

"Cross contamination along the rope," Warrick explained, thinking it through. "We'll know if she tied herself up, we may be able to get his saliva if he pulled the rope with his teeth."

"Good," Nick said, pleased with his impulse.

"Have we finished here?" Warrick asked.

Nick nodded, "We'll take what we have to the lab and come back when it's light to see if there are any good prints."

They walked together back to Warrick's Tahoe in companionable silence. Neither was thinking about the case.

"So, why did you arrive with Sara, if you weren't with Sara?"

"She was at my house," Nick said cautiously.

Warrick wasn't about to give Nick any ground. He needed to know everything if he was going back his friend up. Nick knew that Warrick wasn't about to do anything to suggest he was letting Nick steal Sara, but he couldn't break her confidence.

"What was she doing at your house, at 10 o'clock at night, on her night off?"

"Sleeping," Nick said darkly.

"Okay." Warrick let it pass for now.

Nick knew that he would have to give Warrick a fuller explanation eventually, but he more concerned right at that moment about Sara. She had reacted strongly to crime scenes before, but never to the point of throwing up. Nick decided that the best thing he could do for her was solve the case as quickly as possible.


	3. The Body

Sara, as always, was a step ahead of them in that regard. When Nick and Warrick got back the lab, Sara had already claimed her place in the autopsy with Doc Robbins. He had barely begun examining the young woman's body when she arrived and asked after his progress.

"The car was definitely what finished her off," he said, gently. "But she was badly beaten before then. Either one and she would have survived, I think, but the shock of the car accident on top of her existing injuries was too much."

He showed Sara the bruising from the car tyres across the woman's middle. And the ligature marks on her wrists.

"See these," he motioned to bruising across the woman's stomach, "Narrow, more rope. She was tied to the tree sitting up. I took her prints."

He handed her the file. She took it without paying it any attention.

"Yes, there's more," he said.

He lifted the sheet off her chest. Under and below her left breast were fresh cuts.

"They look like, an ant, I think," the doctor said unsure, "and a few random cuts."

"Sticks," Sara said softly after a moment.

Doc Robbins nodded. He didn't press it. He let Sara take photos of the cuts and the tyre tracks across the woman's lower body.

"Call me when you've done a rape kit," she said.

She left in the same slow daze she'd been in when she arrived.

Sara dropped the prints into the trace lab. Kelly was there to put them through AFIS, and they eventually produced a file. The woman's name was Pauline Hauser. She was 24 years old, 5' 8.5", 102, pounds. She lived opposite the park. Satisfied that she had enough to go to Grissom with Sara held her information gingerly and went in search of her boss.

He was in his office reading through his own notes on the robbery he'd taken. He didn't notice when she entered. He did notice Sara come in, but he couldn't bring himself to respond.

"It's rape," she said, without any preamble.

That got his attention. The information didn't as much as the lack of emotion in her voice. He merely looked at her.

"Pauline Hauser, she was beaten and raped in the park. The attacker left her and she crawled to the road. She was hit by a car. The combination of the existing injuries and the car accident killed her."

"Anything else?"

She didn't say anything. Instead, she handed him the file of photos from the body and Pauline Hauser's person information. Grissom didn't open the file straight away.

"I want off the case," Sara told him.

"It's your case; you basically demanded it. What's up?"

"I don't want to do it. I want it done right, and I'm not the one for that."

"I can do it."

"No, Nick and Warrick have got it."

"What were you doing at Nick's house?" Grissom asked.

He tried to keep his voice as neutrally curious as possible. He failed. He didn't sound jealous, but he sound more interested than he had when he had asked Sara what was wrong. 'Of all the things he could care about,' she thought, 'it had to be this?!'

"It's really none of your business," she told Grissom, as coldly as she could.

"I am your supervisor," he reminded her.

"So you should be worried about the fact that you're keeping me from my paper work," she retorted.

"If you're seeing another CSI—"

"Bullshit, Grissom!"

His eyes widened. She choked back a bitter laugh at surprising him so much.

"I could have spent the night with anyone in this building except you and Mobley and possibly Brass. The only person who would have had a problem is Eckley. I'm not supposed to be here, I'm going home."

Grissom couldn't say anything until long after she had slammed the door closed. He couldn't work out what had happened. As many times as he went over the conversation, he couldn't work out what had set her off. As troubling as his relationship with Sara was, Grissom had never been quite so effectively poleaxed.

Nick disturbed his reverie. He was probably the worst person to want to speak to Grissom right then, except maybe Eckley.

"My case?" he started.

"Yes," Grissom answered curtly.

"It was rape. Doc said forced penetration, but no DNA, nothing there."

"So?"

"So. He used a condom. Sara said that he masked his own sent with perfume. We could smell it on the body, but there was nothing to pick up. We've got a phantom rapist, Grissom."

Grissom sighed.

"You'd better get to work then, Nick, find out what you can."

"I'm on it. I wanted to know if you'd seen Sara."

"She left about, oh, twenty minutes ago," Grissom told the young man dismissively.

"Home?"

"Yeah, I assume so. Unless she went back to your place to wait for you."

Nick ignored the sarcasm. If Sara was hurting, then he really didn't care what he did to Grissom.

"But it's her case."

"She gave it to you. She went home. She said she wanted it done properly and she trusted you to do that."  
Grissom's tone said he wanted Nick out of his office and that Sara's trust was biased. Nick swore under his breath. He didn't know if it was at Grissom, the rapist or himself. He left without a glance at Grissom. It only screwed Grissom's anger tighter.

Nick grabbed his phone as he marched out of Grissom's office. He dialled Sara's number without thinking. She answered after maybe eight rings.

"Sidle."

"Hey, it's Nick," he said, carefully.

"Hey, Nick," Sara let out the breath she had been holding.

"You left?" he asked. He realised it might be the wrong question, but not soon enough to change it. He held his breath.

"Yeah. I can't take it Nick. You're good. Be thorough, all that."

"You okay?" he asked.

"I'll be fine," Sara assured him, and she sounded it. "I'm too angry to sleep. And even if I did I'd only dream of killing Grissom."

"Okay, I'll call you if I have anything?"

"Please. You didn't get any DNA, did you?" she sounded hopeful.

"No. But it was rape. Unless it was her first time. I've got to contact her parents."

"Yeah, I thought so. Call me."

Sara hung up before Nick could promise that he would.


	4. The Gargoyle

Grissom still couldn't work. Nick's reaction had done nothing except increase his anxiety over what was going on. He also knew he'd been horrible to Sara and he should probably apologise. The combination got him out of his chair and into his car.

He reached Sara's apartment block with little trouble. He found her place almost as easily. He knock on the door and waited. There was no answer so he knocked again.

"Sara! Sara!" he called as he knocked again.

"You can't go in there," a voice behind him said.

Grissom jumped and turned around. He was being stared down by a girl; she looked about nineteen.

"You can't go in there," she repeated.

"I… I'm not going… Who are you?" he asked.

"Names are confusing. You're not allowed to go in there."

"No, you don't understand," Grissom said, trying to be reasonable, "I'm not going to hurt her. I just want to make sure she's okay. I work with her, she knows me."

"I know. You're not allowed in there."

"What on earth—?"

It was the girl's turn to be patient. "She showed me a photo when we first moved in here. It was of all the people she worked with. She told me who was allowed in and who wasn't and under what circumstances. You're not allowed in."

"When am I allowed in?" Grissom asked. Trying to come to terms with the strangeness of the conversation.

"You're not allowed in, at all. The blonde woman and the white guy with dark hair are allowed in. The black guy's allowed in if you have to take evidence. The police officer is allowed in if you need her for questioning. You and the young one aren't allowed in."

"Why not?"

"She didn't give reasons. Those people are only allowed in in extreme circumstances. She'd keep everyone she knew out if she could."

"Why are you guarding her door in the middle of the night?" If he couldn't talk to Sara, Grissom was going to keep her gargoyle occupied.

"It's only two am, I'm working too."

"What are doing?"

"I'm a writer. I'm writing. Aunt Anna's gone. She left a note on the kitchen table, but Jenny hasn't found it yet. She had to check on the sheep because the dam's low and they can't see the mud. They get stuck, see, and they die."

Grissom looked at her blankly.

"My story," she explained.

"I'm not going to hurt her."

"How do you know that?" the girl asked.

"What do you mean?" Grissom was quite confused.

"Your presence may very well be more than she wants. There may be things in her apartment, or things about her that she really doesn't want you to see or know."

Grissom felt a chill, "What do you know?"

"I don't know anything. But I'm a writer. I understand things. I know that she doesn't want you in there, for whatever reason, and it's my prerogative to stop you."

"Why you?" Grissom was beginning to feel out of his depth. Which, he reasoned, meant he had been out there for a while.

"Because she showed me the photo."

"I'm worried about her," he admitted, "I did something wrong, I don't know what, and I want to apologise."

"Noble sentiments. But going where she doesn't want you is hardly going to make for a real mistake to begin with, now isn't?"

"No. Where are you from?"

"Fitzroy, Melbourne, Victoria, Australia, Southern Hemisphere."

"Are you allowed in? I mean can you check on her for me?"

The girl nodded. She disappeared back into her own apartment. She came out again with a set of keys. She opened the door, slipped through and closed it again before Grissom could get more than the barest glimpse of the inside.

Once inside the girl walked softly, but confidently to Sara's bedroom.

"Sara, Sara, it's Michelle. How are you?"

Sara was wrapped up in her blanket in her flannel pyjamas. There was an open bottle of sleeping pills on the bedside table. Michelle had seen enough movies, and done enough research. She found Sara's pulse in her neck and counted slowly. It was slow, but strong and steady. With an ear to Sara's chest and one hand on her abdomen, Michelle found that Sara's breathing was also deep and steady.

Michelle opened the door and closed it behind her quickly again.

"She's fine," she told Grissom, "She sleeping. I'll tell her you stopped by."

"Thanks," Grissom said, finally giving control to the young woman in front of him. "My name's—"

"No names," she cut him off, "Names only confuse things. I know who you are."

"Okay. One more question?"

"That's one," she said, "You can have two more."

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen," she answered.

"Really?"

"Do you really want that to be your last question?" she asked smugly.

"What are you doing in Las Vegas?" Grissom asked instead.

"I'm with my father. I'm travelling as much as I can while I write."

"Okay," Grissom said. The girl's stance said she was waiting for him to leave. He realised that he had well and truly used up his questions. He turned around sadly and walked back to his car.


	5. The Past

Nick was standing over Greg when Grissom got back to the lab. He walked past to office and buried himself once again in his file. Nick was waiting for Greg to run a DNA test on what they had found under the victim's fingernails.

"Quiet!" Greg yelled, "You'll upset the machine."

Nick had barely moved, let alone spoken in the last five minutes. The comment took him completely by surprise and he had to take a couple of steps backwards. Greg sighed in relief. The computer spat out the results.

"DNA, not the victim's," Greg said after a cursory glance.

He handed the sheet to Nick, who snatched it. He took off to run it through the data base.  
Warrick found him there half an hour later.

"You been waiting long?"

"Too long," Nick said. "Have you found anything?"

"Victim's saliva on the rope where it was knotted, other saliva on the ends of the rope. I was very careful to keep the entire length separated out to prevent cross contamination. Greg said you had the results from the vic."

Nick handed over the report without taking his eyes from the computer screen. Warrick looked over them.

"Same guy," he said and settled back to watch with Nick.

The computer popped up a file. They both read it silently. With one glance at each other, Nick pressed print and they got up to see Grissom.

Grissom wasn't in his office when Nick and Warrick arrived. They wandered off to find him. They found Catherine first. She just shrugged when they asked her where Grissom was.

"Well, ah, we'll run it by you then," Nick said.

Catherine was fine with that. Nick was pleased that he didn't have to see Grissom yet. The man had been tetchy. Warrick still did the talking.

"We put the DNA through CODIS. About seven years ago there was a similar case in San Francisco. A young woman, similar description to our victim was raped and beaten. They couldn't track the perpetrator. There was little evidence to suggest that it had in fact been rape. The bruising was not conclusive. She could have tied herself to the tree, and knew the basics of physical evidence. She had been robbed and the police consensus seems to have been that she set up the rape charge to get back at this guy. The victim was unwilling to testify without more evidence. She said she had been threatened."

Catherine nodded sadly.

"We're almost lucky our victim died," Warrick said.

"Where does it leave us?" She asked.

"Nick had a hunch about the rope," Warrick said, almost grinning.

"I wrapped it lengthwise," Nick explained. "To prevent contamination along the length of the rope itself. Warrick tested the DNA and the saliva deposits. There's no way she could have tied herself to the tree. She untied herself by pulling at the knots with her teeth. But in order to tie yourself up, you need pull on the end of the rope."

"I tried it. You can't do it otherwise. There is saliva on the ends of the rope. But it belongs to the same guy our vic took a scratch out of. They had a possible suspect in San Francisco. On the evidence they couldn't get a warrant for DNA, all they had to go on was the DNA from the saliva on the rope, the victim hadn't got a good enough swipe at him."

"This is serious," Catherine said. A chance to catch a serial rapist.

"Yes," Nick said simply.

"How many rape cases lead to a conviction?" she asked.

"About ten percent of complaints," Warrick said, "I think. Maybe one percent?"

"The MO seems fairly straight forward," Catherine said, looking over the file, "Do we, do you, have any other links?"

Nick handed over a photo. It was marked, 'underside, victim's left breast.' There were scratches or cuts to show what appeared to be an ant and a series of vertical and horizontal lines.

"What's this?"

"Don't know. But our victim had similar cutting."

Catherine flipped to the other photos. She shuddered at the thought any woman would have to feel that. But more at the thought that whoever this woman was, she was still living with a very vivid reminder of what had been done to her.

"You might be lucky, but your vic's luckier that she died."

"How do figure?" Warrick asked. He was obviously confused, but he wasn't insensitive to the idea.

"I just get that idea," Catherine said. She handed them back the file. She just held it out till Warrick took it.

"Get this right, guys," she said.

Nick was beginning to understand why Sara hadn't in fact told Catherine anything about what had happened. He liked Catherine most of the time and tried, as everyone did, to reassure her about Lindsey. Catherine immediately lowered herself in Nick's esteem when she said:

"I hear you brought Sara in tonight, Nick."

Nick didn't explode, but did come close, "It's nothing! There's nothing going on. She was at my house, we're friends, so what?"

Catherine nodded sagely. Nick had the distinct impression that he was merely a small piece in a complicated puzzle Catherine was doing in her head. It was not a pleasant feeling. He imagined that criminals felt as if they'd been out played in much the same way.

Nick watched bewildered as Catherine nodded again, suppressed a smile and turned her back on them. Warrick saw Nick's expression and had to suppress his own laugh.

"Yeah, she can have that effect," he said quietly.


	6. The Confidante

Catherine did actually know where Grissom was. He'd been in the garage when she'd gone there to the print the get away car's steering wheel. He hadn't been doing that but he had been reading the case notes. He claimed that it was too noisy in the lab, that he didn't want to be disturbed. Whereas Grissom seemed more interested in how most of the time, Catherine was always one for why. There was little fun in putting the edge on a jigsaw if you didn't get to see what the whole picture looked like.

Grissom was putting together the file on their burglary when Catherine got back to the garage.

"You can't just run away," she said.

Grissom raised his head slowly and looked at her balefully.

"Run away from what?" he asked his voice at odds with his expression.

"Anything," Catherine said, shrugging, "Nick, Sara, yourself…"

"I'm not running away," Grissom told her.

"You can't hide either."

"I'm not hiding," Grissom said, trying to sound as sure.

"Then apologise to Sara. Explain the situation to Nick and admit to yourself what's going on."

"What's going on?" Grissom asked. He began to feel he'd missed something. Like he had that time Sara had asked him if he'd wanted to sleep with her. He didn't like the feeling.

Catherine saw his vulnerability but decided to give her friend one chance at least.

"Admit that you screwed up. Acknowledge that you were jealous that Sara had trusted Nick and not you. Apologise to Sara for seeming not to care that she was upset by this rape case. I know that you do care. You probably thought it was easier not to ask her about it. She might have appreciated your understanding more if it hadn't seemed that you had trivialised it."

"I did—" Grissom started to protest.

"You asked her about Nick, didn't you?"

"I did want to know what was wrong."

"What did she say?" Catherine demanded.

"That she could have slept with one in the building but me, Brass and Mobley and that the only person who would have had a problem that list is Eckley." Grissom was glad for the fact that, with his lamp behind him, Catherine couldn't see his expression.

"Apologise to her. Explain that you do care, it's just hard to show it. She'll laugh and says she knows, Gil. Apologise to Nick for ripping into him. Explain that you were concerned for Sara and how that case was effecting her and you just wanted to know everything so you could help. He'll tell her that, and it will all be all right."

"She should know that she can trust me, Cath, I've known her longer than she's known you or Nick."

"You're her friend, Grissom. She cares what you think. She's not going to tell you anything she thinks is going to let you think less of her."

"And Nick?" Grissom asked, whining less than he was before.

Catherine sighed, "You really don't get this bit of life, Grissom. I've seen it all. Brothers always know more about their sister than anyone else does."

She didn't wait for his answer but left again to do what she was going to do before she'd bumped into Nick and Warrick.

Grissom followed her out looking for Nick. Nick wasn't exactly trying to keep out of Grissom's way. If he were he would have disappeared. As it was Grissom cornered him in the break room.

"Nick, is Sara okay?"

"She's mightily pissed at you," Nick said matter-of-factly.

He poured himself some coffee and sat down. Grissom didn't move from the doorway.

"I figured that, but otherwise? I know the case was difficult for her…"

"More than either of us know, Gil," Nick told him.

Nick was not blind to the fact that this was Grissom making a concerted effort to make up for his behaviour. The guy deserved a bit of support.

"I just wanted to say, well, you're looking out for her, and that's good. I just wanted to know what was going, see if I could do anything. Let me know if I can help."

"Will do, boss," Nick answered as he would any request.

"How's the case going?" Grissom asked, trying to move conversation on.

"There was a case in San Francisco in '95. They had a possible suspect, but not enough for a warrant. There's enough to match the cases, but we don't have a name."

"Call Sara," Grissom said, "She was working there then, if she doesn't know she'll who does."

"Thanks," Nick nodded.

He took a sip of coffee thoughtfully. He wanted to say something to Grissom, to show he understood. He started before he realised that Grissom had disappeared again.


	7. The Phone Call

Sara woke up loudly. She knocked her alarm clock of her bedside table. She slammed the bedroom door closed and the bathroom door. Her drawer fell out when she was getting dressed and she cursed loudly when she dropped her tea mug. She kicked the wall hard. Half a minute later she heard her door opening.

"Sara, it's Michelle," a young voice called out.

"Hey, Shell," Sara called back. The young woman's voice always calmed her down a bit.

Michelle came into the kitchen. Sara got another cup and made sure there was enough water in the kettle.

"I heard you get up," Michelle explained. She chuckled slightly, "Even my brother wasn't that noisy."

"Never had a brother, wouldn't know," Sara said.

"They're not really worth it. Though, for the most part you can tell them things."

"I've got a guy like that," Sara said. She smiled as she thought of Nick when he'd kissed her so sweetly.

"The quiet guy came to see you last night, well very early this morning," Michelle said.

"Who?" Sara asked, pouring water.

"The quiet one, from your work," Michelle explained.

'Grissom,' Sara thought, but she knew Michelle's aversion to names and didn't say it out loud.

"You couldn't have called him the old one?" Sara asked. Grissom was obviously older than the others.

"He's only 46, the worn one is 49. Anyway, ages are almost as confusing as names."

Sara didn't question how she knew how old Grissom and Brass were. The answers were usually more confusing than not knowing.

"He's the boss," she said, "You could have called him that."

"I think describing someone's major characteristic is better than any other label that has been forced upon them," the young woman answered with an air of smug wisdom.

Sara smiled, "So who am I?"

"You're the reserved one. I had to choose which of you was quiet and which was reserved. It was hard from a photo but I think he would tell you things if you asked in the right way."

"You like doing that, don't you?" Sara said.

Michelle smiled but was saved from answering by the phone ringing.

"Sidle," Sara answered it.

"Hey, it's Nick."

"Hiya."

"Um, we got a match on the DNA," he began carefully.

Sara felt her stomach clench, "Really?"

"Yeah, there was a case in San Francisco about seven years ago. There was DNA on the rope, enough for a sample, but it wasn't handled right for a warrant."

Sara didn't say anything.

"I wanted to know if you knew the name of the suspect, or if you know someone who did," Nick went on.

"Yeah," Sara said. "Call Kelly Sharman at SFPD, she worked the police side, tell her I said to say hi."

"Thanks," Nick said.

Sara hung up before he could ask about the victim. She hung up before she could worry about why he hadn't already asked. She put the phone down carefully and turned back to Michelle. Michelle was gone. There was a scrap of paper on her tea cup. She'd written 'Ta' on it.


	8. The Visitor

Sara picked up her own tea and drunk it as quickly as she could. She dropped the cup in the sink and made her way to her couch. She curled herself up at one end, hugging her knees to her chest. 'Closure, and for the victims, that's everything,' Catherine had said, or something like it. It was coming closer, and she would have to testify. Everything she thought she had buried so well had come up when she had smelt that perfume. Unconsciously she ran her thumb lightly under her left breast.

She was concentrating on the fact that she couldn't fell anything through her clothes when her door bell rang. She wasn't going to answer it. She wanted whoever it was go away. They rang again and knocked. She got up slowly and opened the door. She found a nervous Grissom on the other side. She stepped back so he could come in. It was up to him to start the conversation.

"Your gargoyle's not on duty," he said pleasantly.

"Who?" Sara asked sharply.

"There was a young woman here when I came last night. She was guarding you from me."

'Ah, Michelle,' "That's her job," Sara said. "Why are you here?"

"I'm sorry," he answered. He couldn't say what for. He didn't need to.

"Thanks," Sara said softening. "I'm sorry, too."

Grissom felt a weight lift but he couldn't say where it had been or when it had got there.

"Nick said to tell you that they're bringing Thomas Jamieson in. They have a warrant for his DNA."

Sara licked her lips. Grissom watched her carefully as she found her way to her couch and sunk into the corner again.

"Sara, what was it about this case?" he asked gently. "He didn't mean for her to die."

Sara scoffed. "Of course not. Why would you want a woman to die when you can have power over her for the rest of her life? When the worst dreams she has are dreams of you and she can never forget you."

Sara steeled herself to meet his questions.

"Did Nick tell you about the cuts?" she asked.

"Doctor Robbins did. He said you said it was an ant and sticks?" He questioned the last bit.

"Yeah."

Grissom waited for Sara to say what she wanted to. He wasn't going to prompt her in case it was in the wrong direction.

"She was victim six."

"How…?" 'How does that work? how do you know?'

Sara pulled herself up. Grissom forced himself to stay the four feet he was from her. Sara slowly unbuttoned her top. Grissom watched silently. Sara was only able to show him by pretending that he was, in fact, not there. This wasn't how she wanted this to happen, but she lifted her bra up slightly. Grissom examined the exposed skin dispassionately.

On the underside of Sara's left breast was an old scar of what could be an ant and…

"A tree," she said. "The ants were marching three by three, the little one stopped to climb a tree."

"They have a warrant. They have his DNA from under Pauline Hauser's finger nails and from the rope."

Grissom stepped back. Sara concentrated on buttoning up her shirt so she didn't have to look at him. She didn't have to see his reaction. He was being so very rational about it.

"I'll have to testify, everyone will know."

"Everyone has demons, Sara. The people who know you will understand, that's all that matters."

She nodded slowly. Grissom couldn't work out what to do with a depressed Sara. He could deal with Sara when she was angry because it involved standing firm. His mother had taught him that, but he couldn't do caring and supportive.

He sat down beside her. As close as he could without actually touching her. If she wanted his contact, it was up to her. Sara needed to feel his warmth and lent into his arm.

"How's your case going?" she asked.

Grissom was glad for a topic that was so mundane. For them, at least, it was entirely normal to talk about other people's house break-ins.

"It's still a case," he said. "We got prints of the car, but it was at an over night car cleaning place. They have legitimate reasons to have their prints in the car."

"Tough," was her only comment.

"We have one possible print in the bathroom. On a tap; it seems our burglar went to the toilet and washed his hands."

Sara could feel Grissom chuckle lightly. She chuckled, too. He could feel her sigh against him.

"You are okay, Sara?" he asked.

Sara felt comfortable with the question. Grissom's voice was firm; he was merely reiterating a point.

"Yeah. Thanks, Grissom."

"What'd I do?"

"You sat down," she said shrugging slightly.

A moment later she pulled herself up off Grissom. She offered a hand to him.

"Coffee?"

Grissom grabbed Sara's hand to get up. He dropped it when he was standing. Whatever closeness they had had was gone behind Sara's determination to be unaffected by it.

Sara had to concentrate on making coffee correctly. Grissom watched her. He couldn't move to help her. And he couldn't say anything that might distract her. The coffee was good when it was made. Sara was still not herself despite the effort she was putting into appearing fine.

"How are you?" Grissom asked.

"Fine," Sara said. 'Considering that I've just had to relive the nightmare I survived seven years ago and I had to let you understand and I'm facing reliving it all again.'

It was obvious to Grissom that she wasn't. But she had said it with enough of her usual expression that he knew she would be fine eventually.

Sara was sure Grissom would tell her that she wasn't. When he didn't she almost really did feel fine.


	9. The Warrants

Nick went with Warrick and the officers who went to pick Thomas Jamieson up. He caught between the need to see this man and revulsion he knew he would feel. It was a nice, neatly kept house. It was probably his imagination, but Nick thought the front garden even looked obsessive, too controlled.

Bradly knocked loudly. A man in his early fifties opened the door.

"May I help you, officer?"

"Thomas Jamieson?"

"Yes."

"We have a warrant for your DNA, and to search your house," the officer said, handing over both pieces of paper, "May we come in?"

Thomas stepped back to let them in, reading the warrants. Nick and Warrick brushed past him and separated to cover the house. The house was as ordered as the yard and it didn't take much effort to go through everything. There was not much evidence of anything in the house; there was only one photo, an old wedding picture; nothing was out of place, Warrick was surprised that anyone in fact lived there at all.

"Who's this?" he asked, picking up the photo.

"Me," Thomas answered, "Janine and I on our wedding day. We swore to be true till death did us part," he murmured angrily.

"What happened to your wife, sir?" Warrick asked.

"She left me. About twelve years ago," he said the anger was gone but Warrick thought he looked strained at the effort.

Nick came out from the back end of the house. He was carrying two sample bags. One held a long length of white, cotton rope, the other a bottle of perfume.

"Do you have a girlfriend, Mr Jamieson?" he said.

"No, I— Why?" Thomas asked.

"Care to explain a nearly new bottle of perfume in your bathroom cabinet?" Nick asked.

"It was my wife's favourite. I keep some to remind me of her."

"We'd like you to accompany us, sir," Nick said.

"I don't have to, do I?"

"No," Warrick said, with forced calmness, "But we can arrest you, and then you would have to. We also need you DNA, Nick?"

"With pleasure," the younger CSI said.

Nick explained the procedure to Thomas Jamieson in an insultingly simple way. The old man took it well and submitted to the swab. He came with them to 'help in their investigation' without them having to arrest him.

Sara had insisted on coming in. And despite all of Grissom's protests, she had insisted on driving herself. She'd won him over with the argument that if she had her own car she could leave early.

So Sara arrived back at the lab at the same time Nick and Warrick were bringing in the samples.

"Sara, can you come with me?" Nick asked.

Sara followed him. Grissom watched her leave sadly. Nick sat Sara down on a stool. He pulled out a pair of gloves and set the evidence bags on the bench. He took the perfume bottle out.

"Sara?" he asked tentatively, "Can you smell this for me?"

Sara just nodded.

Nick opened the bottle and held it out for Sara lent forward to smell it.

She nodded again.

Nick squeezed her shoulder and began to put the perfume away again.

"Nick," she said.

"Yes?"

"I know," she said.

Nick didn't understand but he didn't ask. He knew he could work it out without troubling her. He didn't say anything as she followed him to the interrogation room. She met Warrick and Grissom outside. Without any protest, she went into the observation room. There was no way she would have been able to get through the wall that the three men made across the door. She didn't want to anyway.

Grissom had technically handed the case over to Warrick and Nick. In any other circumstances they wouldn't mind him taking an interest, but there weren't going to let him here. They couldn't trust even Grissom not to over react.

"You've got your own crime scene, Griss. Help Catherine out."

Grissom was a bit put out by the abrupt way they were getting rid of him. But he also knew they were right so he went off to find something else to do.


	10. The Interview

Nick and Warrick walked purposely through the door and sat down with their files in front of Thomas Jamieson.

"Do you mind if we tape this interview?" Warrick asked as he opened the file.

Jamieson shrugged, and nodded.

"Sir, do you know the park at the end of Winch road?" Nick asked.

"I think so. There's a bus stop at one end of it."

"Yes," Nick confirmed, "Were you there last night?"

"I couldn't say. I go there sometimes; it's a good bus to catch to the Library. I may have been yesterday," Jamieson answered suavely.

"We found your DNA on a piece of rope which we found in the park about 10 o'clock last night," Warrick told him coolly.

"Well, then I was there sometime before you found the rope," Jamieson said.

Nick and Warrick both knew that it was too cool for them to back into a corner. And the evidence they had was too thin on its own.

"Your wife?" Nick asked suddenly abandoning the questioning.

Thomas Jamieson didn't blink. But he did relax for a moment before he became suspicious again.

"What about her?" he asked.

"Could you describe her?"

"Tall," he said. "She was very graceful. She had a gorgeous laugh when she was happy," he got caught up in his reminiscence. "I couldn't see her hair in the dark. If I woke up during the night I wouldn't be able to see her sometimes because her hair would just cover her face. I thought she was still there even when she left because I knew that sometimes I couldn't see her."

"When did she leave?" Warrick asked his voice sympathetic. As if he had been moved by the story.

Jamieson shrugged sadly, "About twelve years ago. We lasted ten years. Ten whole years. I was so happy. I thought she was, too. I mean, she said she was leaving a couple of times. But I always convinced her that she didn't want to."

Sara watched Thomas Jamieson's face carefully, with a sick fascination. If he was early fifties now, then, seven years ago, he was in his mid forties. As old as Grissom was now. The thought sent a chill through her spine. Her eyes widened as if she were afraid. 'And this bastard convinced his wife she didn't want to leave, the bastard,' she though, unaware of the tautology. It began to make her weak. She knew she would start to feel sick soon.

"You keep her perfume?" Nick asked. He followed Warrick's lead of sympathy to get the guy's barriers down.

"Yes. I like to be reminded of her," Jamieson admitted sadly, "As painful as it is."

"I'm not familiar with perfume," Warrick said, "Is it an unusual scent?"

"Oh, yes. Janine was always very particular with her tastes. She was lovely; everywhere we went people loved her. I felt so lucky when she agreed to be mine."

It was a simple phrase, and one used in that context without any hint of the literal meaning. But Sara could see in his eyes that he felt he had owned her.

She felt so sick she almost threw up again. Her anger at this man helped her maintain her composure. She was done with him now. She realised that she had got what had happened to her out of her system. She was sick at him, not at what he had done to her. She hated him, but it wasn't personal now. It was a feeling of freedom. As if she had realised that the door to her cage was no longer locked. As she was no longer on the case, Sara left the observation room before she could take out her gun and shoot Thomas Jamieson through the glass.

Nick and Warrick worked carefully with their suspect. They eventually got him to admit that he missed his wife all the time. That he never forgot how she had looked when they were first married and that he sometimes thought he saw her in the streets.

"She just left," he said, wallowing in self pity. "She wouldn't acknowledge me at all. She refused to talk to me at all. I would have put things right, if she had told me what was wrong. I was so angry with her. But you've got to believe me it was because she didn't even to turn around, like she didn't recognise me. I couldn't hurt her, I couldn't, but it wasn't her when she was like that. My Janine was so loving and cheerful, she could never say no to me."

He smiled proudly. Nick was looking at him with unabashed shock and Warrick was ready to punch him.

"Were you in Winch road or the park last night around ten o'clock?"

"No," Jamieson said shortly.

"We found your DNA on a piece of rope in the park at that time," Warrick told him, reading off the notes.

"It could have got there any time," Jamieson said. He was tense, still, but he was answering with a strong measure of poise.

"It had been used to tie a woman to a tree."

"Any one could do that with a piece of rope."

"We found your saliva along the rope indicating that you had tired the woman up."

"What says I did anything?" Jamieson asked. His self confidence, or his ability to lie to himself in face of the evidence had convinced him that he was safe. Warrick answered the question.

"We have a piece of rope and proof that you used it to tie up a woman who was then raped. She resembled your ex-wife, whom you say left you and you were angry at. The crime scene included the strong scent of an unusual perfume that you had in you house and which belonged to your wife. And we have another victim of a similar crime who was willing to make a statement seven years ago."

"And she recognises your wife's perfume as the perfume you were wearing when you raped her," Nick added.

Thomas Jamieson looked shocked. He really had done well to disguise himself, Nick thought. And perhaps with the threats he had made this woman would have come forward. She may have gone home and washed the whole thing off her. Nick admired Sara's courage for giving a statement. He watched Jamieson and thought about he was going to tell Sara that her friend had told him.

"I know," she had said.

He shook his head at his own density in not realising what she meant. For not realising that he'd given himself away. But at least she understood.

Their 'suspect' seemed to take Nick's head shaking as a sign of something. He knew that he hadn't really said much in the interview. Being upset over your wife leaving was hardly motive for any crime. He looked straight back at Nick with a sneer.

"I want my lawyer here now."

Warrick closed the file and stood up.

"Sure thing," he said.

Nick grinned cheekily at Jamieson as he stood up.

"You can arrest him for the rape of Pauline Hauser," he told the officer at the door, without taking his eyes from the old man's.

He was going to find the names of the other victims to add to the list.

He and Warrick waited outside while they took Thomas Jamieson away. Warrick gave Nick a questioning look.

"What?" Nick asked.

"The perfume?" Warrick clarified his question.

Nick nodded slowly. Warrick put the pieces together in his head and looked worriedly at the door to the observation room. Nick reached the door first. He knocked to give Sara some warning and opened it when he heard nothing. One glance showed him the room was empty.


	11. The Quote

Nick took a couple of deep breaths instead of running off blindly. He thought of where to go. He remembered Grissom trying to insist on being let in to the interview. And he remembered other things. He set of briskly to Grissom's office. Catherine was there running her theory by Grissom.

"I tell you, it's in Lindsey's book. It is the car wash company. Think about it, there are no other prints. It's the same MO, with a different car. We've got this one print. Bring that guy in to explain it, he'll rat on the others for a deal."

"A young adult book, you say," Grissom said, unconvinced.

He wasn't in a good mood from having been shut out of the interview. Catherine was determined to win, even if she couldn't learn anything about why he was so grumpy. They had ended up with Catherine explaining her theory in all the different ways she could and Grissom finding a new way to question its veracity. It was turning into Monty Python's cheese game. Neither could be sure whether they were becoming annoyed or amused. Neither Warrick nor Nick wanted to find out.

"Ah, Grissom," Nick interrupted. "Did Sara come this way?"

"I haven't seen her since you kicked me out of the interview," Grissom said. Then he realised what the question meant, but he couldn't help but ask "Why?"

"She was watching the interview, and we finished up, and had him arrested and she wasn't there. I thought she may have come to see you," Nick said.

"Isn't she more likely to wait for you?" Grissom said.

Nick looked oddly at Grissom. He couldn't think of anything to say. Warrick could.

"Yeah, well, she might, 'cause she loves Nick. But she wasn't there, and she's actually in love with you," Warrick said, stating the obvious.

"That's ridiculous," Grissom said.

He was looking first at Nick and then at Warrick, trying to see the scheme they were thinking up. Catherine was amazed that Grissom could sound so disinterested. He was treating the idea as an abstract philosophical question. She wasn't as sure of Sara's feelings as Warrick seemed to be, but she'd been suspicious of Grissom since he had described Sara as 'a friend of mine. Someone I trust.'

Nick laughed a short, 'ha.' "She doesn't think that," he said.

"Did she say that?" Grissom asked. He sounded like he wanted to prove Nick wrong. Nick, Warrick and Catherine were standing close together on the far side of his desk like children caught stealing something. None of them really knew what to say.

"I said, 'I thought you were going to tell me you were in love with Grissom,' making sure that I sounded teasing, but not irreverent. She said 'I'd never tell even you that, Nick.' I asked her what she meant, she just muttered, 'I am sorry for my cousin,' and went to get another drink."

"So she didn't?" Grissom said. He felt his own disappointment. He saw that Catherine was also disappointed and was pleased that he was doing okay at hiding his feelings.

"Yes, she did," Catherine squealed.

Warrick turned to her. "How do you make that noise?"

"I was really excited," Cath explained in her normal voice. "Sara quoted Shakespeare, it just took me while to place it."

"How is it that you recognised it and Grissom didn't?" Nick asked.

Grissom was trying to maintain a disinterested curiosity.

Catherine looked at Grissom. "He only reads the tragedies," she said.

"What's the quote?" Warrick asked, turning back to Grissom again.

Their boss had managed to find a look of boredom. But everyone felt as if they were slowly backing him into a corner.

"'Believe me not, and yet I lie not. I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing. I am sorry for my cousin.' Beatrice to Benedick after telling him she loved him."

"Wow," the boys said together.

"So, it seems, Grissom," Catherine said in what must have been her best 'do your chores' voice, "that you will be going to Sara's. Obviously this case has had an effect on her, and the interview's made it worse, and you're going to make sure that she's okay."

Grissom nodded amicably. He couldn't fight against them, and there was no way he wanted to. He understood that Nick knew about what had happened to Sara. He didn't stay to work out who knew what. They made him leave and told him to tell Sara that they all hoped she was okay.

Grissom left and Catherine focused on Nick.

"Can you tell me exactly what's going?"

Nick sighed, "the other case?"

"Yeah? Oh… shit."

Nick and Warrick watched with concern as Catherine went from curiosity through realisation to concern and anger. Warrick gripped her arm. She patted his hand but she didn't stop staring with mounting anger at some apparition.

"Cath. Cath, she'll be okay," Warrick said.

Catherine sighed. She nodded. But Warrick didn't let go of her arm until she turned to leave and he had no choice.

Nick raised an eyebrow at Warrick as he followed Catherine out. Warrick punched him lightly on the arm. He looked a little embarrassed, but not at all ashamed.


	12. The Explanation

Grissom arrived at Sara's house feeling ridiculous. He knocked lightly on her door. She didn't answer within about half a minute he turned to leave. He almost crashed into Sara's gargoyle. The girl jumped back a foot and looked up at Grissom.

"Hello," she said.

"Ah, hi," Grissom said.

"Do you want to visit Sara?" she asked.

"Aren't I not allowed to?" he asked carefully.

"Can you tell me what is going on?" she asked.

Grissom leant back against the wall next to Sara's door. He looked at the gargoyle carefully.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Michelle," she said after a moment.

"That's a nice name," Grissom said.

"No, it's not," Michelle said. "'Shell,' isn't bad though."

"Have you seen Sara today?" Grissom asked.

"She came in a little while ago. She seemed, well, dazed. I didn't press her; she wanted to sleep. She said that she'd lost something she didn't want to keep. I was worried."

"How well do you know her?" Grissom asked, suspiciously.

"Well, enough," Michelle said defensively. "She doesn't mind me. I understand her. We're both up at night. I go and visit her sometimes and she tells me things. I had to ask her about the processes for finding lost people. Jenny ran away when she was twenty four. No one noticed that she was missing for two days."

"Who's Jenny?" Grissom asked, the name sounded familiar.

"She's a character, I'm writing about her," Michelle said.

Grissom decided to get as much out of 'Shell' while he could. "Why didn't you want to know my name?" he asked.

Michelle blushed. "I'm not very good at recognising faces. If someone who fitted your description had come up and given your name I wouldn't have know it wasn't you. I could recognise you anywhere now," she said.

"How?"

"The way you walk, the way you stand, the sound of your voice, the way you talk to me."

"How is Sara?" he asked. The original cause of his mission here had reasserted itself in his mind.

"I don't know," Michelle said, shrugging. "She seemed dazed. Something changed today. I think you should talk to her."

"Aren't I not allowed in?" Grissom asked.

Michelle bit her lip apprehensively. She looked liked he'd backed her into a corner.

"She said that, not me. She doesn't want to talk to me. You know more than I do, you should do it."

"I'm not very good at talking to people," Grissom said.

"But you care about Sara?" Michelle asked.

"Of course," Grissom said, surprised at how much sense the answer made.

"You'd be very good for her," Michelle said. Looking down from all of her seventeen years of experience.

"So you can let me in?" Grissom asked.

Michelle looked almost scared. She shook herself and nodded. She opened the door to her own apartment and took Sara's key from the hook by the door. She handed it to Grissom with a secretive smile.

"Make good use of it," she said.

Grissom assured her that he would. Under the gargoyle's watchful gaze, he opened Sara's door. He didn't see Michelle's grin as he closed the door behind him.


	13. The Intruder

Grissom walked quietly, but not sneakingly, through Sara's apartment. He found his way through the lounge room to her bedroom. He knocked on the door. When there was no answer he felt it was safe to enter.

Sara was asleep curled up in her bed. Her face was squashed into her pillow. There was a bottle of sleeping pills beside on her bed side table. Grissom grabbed the half empty bottle and tried to work out how many someone would need to take for it to be dangerous. Before he could complete the mental arithmetic Sara shuffled in her sleep and repositioned her head on her pillow. Grissom froze, hoping he hadn't disturbed her. She seemed to shrug before falling back into deeper sleep.

Grissom put the bottle down carefully. He walked around to the other side of the bed where he could see her face more clearly. He couldn't think of any consequences as he kicked off his shoes and took off his belt so he could lie opposite her comfortably. The bed was firm, but comfortable and he could rest on his side watching her.

He stroked the hair back from her face where it was buried in her pillow. He could see her face, soft now she was sleeping and vulnerable without the even the minimum of make up she wore.

He smoothed her hair and tucked it behind her ear. He stroked her cheek lightly. He couldn't resist the sensation.

She woke. He knew when her breathing changed. He snatched his hand back. He would have moved away but she reached for him. One hand on his shoulder was enough to keep him there.

"Nick?" she asked. She sounded anxious.

Grissom could hardly breathe. His heart felt that it was in a vice. He could hear Sara's gargoyle, "You're not allowed in there," and see her fear when she had let him in.

"No, it's, it's Grissom," he managed.

He tried to pull away then. He couldn't stay.

"Grissom," Sara breathed.

She pulled him closer. She pulled herself closer to him. Grissom couldn't do anything as she wrapped her arms around him and buried her head in his shoulder. He could feel her tears through his shirt.

Sara tried to stifle her sobs, to hold her tears in. She'd never cried for Nick. She'd woken up ready to cry but it was Grissom there and the river broke. He wouldn't ask why; she would have to lie.

Her breathing was ragged. She gasped breath in and choked out a broken sound.

"Shh, Sara, shh," he whispered a couple of times. "You don't need to cry."

Grissom realised that really it might be better for her to cry herself out. He stroked her hair, feeling it against his fingers, and concentrated on breathing steadily. Slowly her breathing quieted in time with his. Slowly she realised that she was in her apartment, in her bed with her arms around Grissom and she could feel his heart beat against her cheek. They breathed in and out together, their chests rising against each other in time. They were each very aware of where they were, of how close they were.

Thinking only to move away, Grissom kissed Sara gently on the top of her head. He could think off nothing else to do, no other way to welcome her back from the depths of her sorrow.

Sara understood, and without considering what she was doing, or why, she pressed her lips to his. It was a warm kiss, not desperate. She pulled away. Grissom let his breath out carefully. Sara smiled sweetly and kissed him lightly once more. He kissed her back gently. The kiss lingered.

Grissom didn't pull away. All he could feel was her lying against him. He kissed her again. She kissed him with all the passion and longing she felt for him. He responded. He ignored all the arguments he'd made; that she was too young, that he was too old, that he was her boss. They both forgot everything except that they were there, together.

Sara methodically unbuttoned his shirt. His hands wandered feverishly underneath her pyjama top. They explored each other's bodies meticulously. They lost themselves in each other through the afternoon. She kissed his neck warmly, savouring the taste of his skin. She ran her lips across his cheek to kiss him deeply.

Sara closed her eyes and breathed softly again. Grissom held her gently and watched her breath disturb the hair across her face. He realised with a start exactly who they were and what had happened. He realised that for him there was nothing to regret. But he couldn't pressure her if there was no more to it than her need for somebody just then.

"Sara…?" he prompted.

She murmured, "Mmm-Hmm" and snuggled closer to him.

Some how they would work this out. It would work out. With a flash of fear he thought that maybe she wanted him there because of what was happening. That it was a need for warmth. Until then he hadn't realised how much he wished it wasn't.

Slowly he began to move his arms away. Sara gripped his shoulder harder.

"Don't," she said. Her voice what thick with both sleep and warning.

He froze.

"Stay?" she murmured.

Even in her sleepy mind she knew that he probably thought that this was a bad idea. She wasn't going to let him go without a fight.

Grissom smiled slightly at the catch in her voice. He relaxed against her slightly. He still held her carefully.

"I will," he promised quietly.

"Forever, Gil," she said. She sounded smug.

Sara fell asleep curled against him. Safe. He fell asleep listening to her breathing. Content.


	14. The Wake Up

Nick woke up with a sudden panic attack twenty minutes before his alarm was even due to ring. He forced himself to calm down. He had been dreaming about the case again. He reminded himself that all the evidence they had was submittable and that it all lead to Thomas Jamieson. He'd even checked all the department store lists for all the people who had bought that perfume in the last year. Thomas Jamieson and a little old lady were the only Las Vegas residents.

He called Sara anyway. He counted twelve rings before Sara's groggy voice answered the phone.

"I though you didn't sleep," he said, by way of an apology for waking her.

"I only sleep so that people can wake me up, Nick. What do you want?"

"I just wanted to let you know that we can take our case to the Sheriff tonight," he said.

"Uh-ha," Sara said. She seemed to be only a little aware of the conversation. Nick supposed being given only a minimum of attention was a reward for having woken her up.

"We're going to have to give everything we've got, Sara. Including all the information on cases that might be linked to ours," he explained.

Sara cottoned on to what he was saying.

"That's okay. Yeah, that's fine. Have you spoken to the ex-wife?"

"No, I was going to see if I could find her when I got in tonight."

"I'll do it," Sara said.

"You're off the case," Nick reminded her. "You could compromise it."

Sara considered how she would go talking to anyone who knew Thomas Jamieson as well as his wife must have.

"Yeah, okay," she said, "but do it well."

"I will," Nick promised. "And tell Griss that Mobley also wants the file on the burglaries."

"Tell Griss?" Sara repeated slowly. She could hear the laughter in his voice.

"You know, if you see him," he said, slowly.

"Thanks," Sara said. She dropped the phone onto its cradle.

Nick couldn't help grinning as Sara hung up.

Sara rolled over and into Grissom. He didn't seem to notice. She snuggled close to him for the few minutes until her own alarm rang. Grissom moved enough to hold her closer, but didn't wake.

He did wake up when the alarm rang. His first thought was that there was something wrong with the alarm, then that he was too warm. He remembered where he was and what had happened when Sara rolled away to turn off the alarm. The bed was warm where she had been lying. It was proof that she had been there; that there was no way it was a dream. He opened his eyes into the dark and unfamiliar bedroom. Sara was there, watching him. She smiled warmly at him.

Grissom ran his hand gently over Sara's cheek. She kissed him gently.

"I have to get up now, to get ready for work," she said.

"You could have a day off," Grissom said. "You really do work too hard."

Sara chuckled.

"And what would be the point if you weren't here?" she asked playfully. "Besides, Mobley wants the stuff on the burglary."

Sara climbed out of her side of the bed, took her dressing gown off the back of her door and wrapped it around herself in one movement. Grissom watched the fluid way she moved. He hadn't expected any mushy 'morning after' talk, but he was a bit taken aback by Sara's abruptness.

"Sara?" he asked, still watching her.

She turned around to face him, smiling a little at the fact he hadn't really moved. He looked good there, lying in her bed.

"Is this going to be a thing?" he asked. He didn't exactly understand what he meant by thing. But Sara understood the question.

"You promised you'd stay forever, Grissom," she said, challengingly.

But she understood where the question came from. "Nick's handing over all we have about the rape case to Mobley. I want to be there."

The last bit was also a challenge and Sara nipped into the bathroom before he could say anything to argue with her. But he pulled himself out of bed as well and started picking up his clothes. They got ready for work without saying much. They showered and dressed and had coffee and toast naturally, without needing to say much beyond, 'where do you keep the bread?'

They left Sara's apartment together. They agreed to take her car without questioning the fact that they were driving in together.

Michelle watched through the crack in her door. She was pleased that things had worked out so well. And quite a bit relieved as well.

Sara drove her car. They arrived a little early and walked in together neither of them thinking of what anyone might think. There was nothing obviously different. But they were walking closer together than they usually did. And they weren't watching each other. They didn't need to anymore; they could feel that the other was there, and knew where they stood.


	15. The Others

Nick arrived a moment behind them and saw them walk through the front doors together. He smiled to himself and grabbed his stuff as quickly as possible to run after them.

"Hey guys," he called out to them.

They turned around at the same time. He couldn't help thinking how cute they were together.

"Mobley wants you to call, Grissom, when the file's ready."

Grissom nodded absently. He cast a questioning glance at Sara; had known this extra piece of information? She noticed the question and shrugged in reply. But she was watching Nick carefully. She tried to give him a warning stare. But he smiled a genuinely happy smile and she had to relent.

"I've got to get my stuff together for the Sheriff," Nick said apologetically.

He nodded to Sara with a wink and gesture towards Grissom before stepping around them and walking off down the corridor.

"What was that?" Grissom asked, having noticed Nick's behaviour.

"Ah…" Sara began. She wasn't sure what to say. Then she decided that the truth was what Nick wanted and wasn't sure how to say.

"Ah… Nick says congratulations."

"'Congratulations'?" Grissom asked after a moment, not working it out.

"Ah… for us. Working it out, or whatever."

She didn't want Grissom to think that she thought of their relationship like that. She reached for his hand, to establish connection again. Grissom gripped her hand. He still couldn't get his head around the fact that Nick knew. He didn't think that Sara would tell him. Or tell him so soon, even if she'd had a chance.

He didn't let go of her hand, but started walking down the hall.

"How does he know?" he asked, as casually as he could.

"Well, he always suspected I liked you. And I couldn't say I didn't, because you don't lie about those kinds of things. He rang this morning to tell me that Mobley was taking the evidence and he told me to pass on the message on to you. If he knew that you were coming to check up on me, then it's just that he saw us arrive together."

"He was always a good observer," Grissom said absently.

Sara grinned slightly. But she didn't say anything.

They made it to the break room before Grissom remembered that he probably shouldn't be holding Sara's hand here. He squeezed it gently, but before he let go Catherine charged out of the room in a mini rage. Sara dropped Grissom's hand and leaped out of the way.

Catherine only realised what she must have seen after she had broken the lovely tableau. She looked suspiciously from Grissom to Sara and back again.

"Oh, thank goodness," she said. "Something's going right today!"

She smiled. Her happiness at seeing them together was obviously enough to dispel her bad mood. Sara shrugged, but Grissom couldn't conceal his confusion quite so easily. Were they really that easy to work out? Then he remembered the strange conversation with the others he night before and felt that he probably deserved it.

Warrick followed Catherine out of the break room a moment later. He nodded only in passing to Grissomandsara and focused on Catherine.

"Are you okay, now, Cath?" he demanded.

"Yes, I am," she said brightly. She smiled at him, desperate to reassure him that she had gotten over whatever crackpot comment Mobley had. The bastard had no concept of science or the precision the discipline required. He didn't seem to understand that you couldn't beat information out of it like a suspect.

Warrick put one hand on her shoulder and tried to hold her on the ground. The force annoyed her but the warmth of his hand was soothing. And so was the fact that he obviously knew what she was thinking. She hadn't thought someone knowing that would ever be a good thing. She shrugged and Warrick let her go.

Cath realised that Sara, at least, was watching Warrick curiously.

"Mobley wanted the burglary stuff the moment I got in. As if I hadn't got his message until AFTER I had left the lab this morning."

"Just ignore him, Cath. I can get it together, if you'd like."

"I've got it, Gil." Cath said. She flashed a reassuring smile at Warrick and nodded to Grissom before turning on her heel and stalking away.

"Hey, Cath," Sara called, "It might go right for you too."

Catherine stopped long enough to give Sara a scathing look. Some silent communication passed between the two women. Cath raised an eyebrow as if to say 'what do you know about it' and Sara scoffed incredulously.

"I'll need your report, Grissom." Catherine said before she disappeared.

"Hey, Warrick," Grissom greeted him.

He wasn't sure what had happened. But he thought that at least by saying 'hi' he could begin somewhere he was familiar. He didn't notice that Warrick was pulled out some reverie.

"Hi, guys, nice going," Warrick said, before wandering off to find Nick.

Grissom turned to Sara, bemused, but smiling. She smiled back.


End file.
